


caught by your smile

by parcequelle



Category: Janet King (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t the first time she’s done this, but it still feels so wonderfully, gloriously new. (Post-2x08 "The Long Goodbye.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	caught by your smile

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song 'Shut Up and Kiss Me' by Paul McDermott.

It’s Tuesday night, five days after the confrontation with Peta, five days since Bianca hasn’t spoken to Janet; five days that Bianca has spent on boring-as-hell mandatory leave, post-AFP debrief, trying not to think herself into circles.

She’d gone to the counselling session, the one she had to go to because she’d discharged her weapon and met her human target, and all she’d been able to think about was Janet: seeing Janet, feeling her presence, finding out if she’s really okay. The counsellor had asked her, “How does it feel to have shot the suspect?” and Bianca had told him it felt better than when she’d killed Bonner a few weeks earlier, because at least this ‘suspect’ was still alive. What she didn’t tell him: that even now, when she’s played the scene in the lift twelve hundred times over in her mind, she sometimes still wishes her aim had been about a half-metre too high. That she has to wonder at the darkness lurking within her, the one that had her so briefly, intensely considering killing the woman before her when the feeling, the fallout of having taken a life was still so fresh.

Bianca had talked just enough, made sure not to smile too much, and the guy had sent her on her way with a patronising comment about her strength and that was that. Probably for the best; this ain’t Bianca’s first rodeo, and there’s nothing a counsellor can do that a cup of tea can’t. 

She’s out of camomile, so she makes herself a consolatory cup of rosehip and flops down in front of the TV. News on the ABC, golf on Ten, mind-numbing reality on Seven and Nine; she settles for SBS’ foreign movie of the week and lets the sound of Finnish dialogue she can’t understand wash over her, watches the images moving and takes nothing in. Thinks about Janet, just drifts there; all roads lead to enigmatic blondes. She wonders what Janet’s doing now, if she feels safe. If she’s been sleeping. If she stays up by the kids’ bedsides and keeps vigil, or if she’s been able to leave them alone in their rooms…

She lets out a puff of air and tells herself not to be so... what? Worried? Overprotective? She isn’t being overprotective, is she? God, she hopes not. And of course she’s worried; it’s normal to be worried after such a traumatic time, but she knows Janet’s a grown-up, she knows Janet is capable of looking after herself. Janet is strong, is resilient, is powerful; Janet has been through a hell of a lot and she’s tough as nails. Tough as nails but so, so soft, the skin of her back, the curve of her hips, the warmth of her—

Bianca sits up, barely stops herself from sloshing over-steeped tea onto her trackpants, and then has to laugh at herself: to think she’d been recommended as a liaison to the Commission for her competence and composure. Good thing they can’t see her now, regressed to fifteen, heart twisted into a nervous knot and her stomach rehearsing an Olympic-worthy acrobatic routine, all because of a girl.

Her phone is sitting calmly on the glass table in front of her, so when it starts buzzing, Bianca really does spill the tea. “Shit,” she mutters. She sets down the dripping cup and rubs at the spot where the scalding liquid has soaked through her pants to her thigh, grabs the phone with her other hand, her heart in her throat as she types in her pin and finds the message from—

—Andy, texting to check how she is. They were questioned in separate rooms by separate people and then sent home for the next few days, so he probably hasn’t seen Janet since Thursday, either. It isn’t Janet, it isn’t Janet and her heart has slowed from a manic gallop down to a trot, but Bianca still smiles; Andy's a nice guy, and it’s sweet of him to ask after her.

 _All good,_ she texts back. She hesitates before she adds, _Heard from Janet?_

_Says she’s ok,_ Andy replies, after a moment. _Happy 2 b back wth the kids._

“I’ll bet,” Bianca murmurs. She doesn’t know what to say – _tell her I said hi_ seems trite and ridiculous under the circumstances, is somehow both too much and not nearly enough – so she just thanks him, bids him goodnight and leaves it at that. 

She drops the phone onto the cushion beside her and wonders. It’s right not to call, right? Janet is a rational woman; she’s got to know Bianca wants to talk to her, wants to see her; that she’s just trying to give Janet space and time to recover with her family, pressure-free. Bianca is brimming with a hundred thousand different Janet-related emotions, compassion and hope and desire and burning, aching relief that she’s alive, but that isn’t Janet’s problem to deal with. Bianca doesn’t – she doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to encroach on the precious, significant thing that is Janet’s time alone with her children.

She’s right not to call. She’s right to give Janet the choice. The least she can do is let Janet have some control.

*

Bianca falls asleep on the sofa and wakes, her neck strained and her foot asleep, the Polish news flickering in the background, to the sound of her phone buzzing. Again. It takes a moment to find it wedged down beside the arm of the sofa, but when she does, she reaches for it and answers without even checking the name; she clears her throat and says, “Grieve,” but doesn’t sit up. Crisis report first, sitting up later.

“Bianca,” says Janet, soft and maybe a little – hesitant? “I woke you, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s—“ Bianca laughs, self-conscious. “Well, yeah, you woke me, but it’s okay. I wasn’t officially asleep.”

“Not _officially_ asleep. That’s a new one.”

“Just semi-asleep,” Bianca murmurs. “Not yet fully committed.” Janet chuckles at that, warm and low; maybe the kids are nearby and she doesn’t want to wake them. Bianca reaches for the throw-blanket slung over the back of the couch and tugs it over her legs, gets comfy. “I wasn’t even in bed yet, actually. I fell asleep on the sofa watching SBS.”

“That Finnish movie with the zombies?”

Bianca frowns. “There were zombies?”

”What was I thinking,” Janet teases, “specifically requesting you for your attention to detail?”

“Hey,” Bianca says, “I never claimed to be an expert on the undead.”

“Just the regular dead, huh?”

“Oh, morbid.”

Janet sighs; Bianca wishes she could see her face, could reach out and touch it. “I’m sorry, I’m in a mood.”

“Can’t sleep?”

It’s quiet a moment, Janet’s breathing the only sound down the line, and then she says, “Don’t want to, I suppose.”

Bianca finds herself nodding even though Janet can’t see it. “I can understand that.”

“I’m not – I’m not afraid, I don’t think. I’m just not sure I want my subconscious to take over just yet. Y’know?”

Bianca really does, but she settles for saying, “I think so.” She bites her lip, wondering where exactly her courage has skipped off to on its unscheduled vacation, and then she asks, “How are the twins?” It’s easier than _how are you_ , at least for now, and she has reasonable hope that Janet will know what she isn’t saying.

“They’re doing fine,” Janet says, and Bianca has to smile at the way her voice instantly brightens. “They’re doing great, actually, considering. They’ve been to kids’ counselling, and I think that’s helping. It’s just amazing how kids bounce back from—” she coughs. “From so many things. They’ve got incredible survival instincts.”

Bianca smiles. “They have a good role model, too.”

The quiet pulses down the line between them, drawing them nearer, and then Janet sighs. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk, the other day. I didn’t – I didn’t mean to head off without saying a word.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Janet, least of all an apology. I’m just—” Bianca’s throat tightens, and she swallows around the feeling, swallows it down. “I was just so glad you were okay, you and the kids. The only thing I expect is for you to take care of yourself and your family. And hey,” she says, in a perhaps belated effort to lighten the mood, “I’m here when you need me. Or want me. Er, if.” Cheeks heating, Bianca takes a moment to knock her head against the back of the sofa, but she soon realises Janet is laughing.

“You’re adorable,” she murmurs. “God.”

“I am known for my charm,” Bianca says dryly.

“Well, you charmed me, didn’t you?”

Bianca grins and presses the phone closer to her ear, as though that will alter the physical distance between them. “I’m really not sure, Commissioner King, that it wasn’t the other way around.”

“Hmm, now there’s a question that needs answering. Who seduced whom?”

Bianca opens her mouth to say something snappy and flirtatious when Janet murmurs, “Come over,” and Bianca is just sitting there, heart racing and mouth a desert. Then, “Bianca?”

“I’m – I’m here, Janet.”

“Come over,” she says again, and hell if Bianca isn’t tempted to grab her keys and head out as she is, half-dressed and shoeless and with a bird’s nest masquerading as her haircut. _Don’t say it a third time,_ she thinks, in mild desperation, _because I won’t be able to say no_.

She has to hunt, but Bianca finally finds her voice and says, “That is a really, really tempting offer, Janet.”

“But?”

“But it’s 1am, we’re both exhausted, and you should be with your kids.” She wrenches her eyes shut and tells herself that sometime, she will be rewarded for this monumental self-control. “I have to go back in to work early tomorrow and I’m – I don’t want our time together to be—” She lets out half a laugh, frustrated. “I’m not explaining this very well, am I?”

“You’re explaining it fine, Bianca.” Janet’s voice is warm and a little rueful, and Bianca wants to wrap herself up in it and spent the night. “And you’re right, of course. I hate that you’re right, but you’re right.”

“Me too,” Bianca says. She thinks of the last time they were together in Janet’s room before it all happened, the wedge of streetlight through the half-open blinds drawing shadows in the hollow of Janet’s collarbones. She thinks of the softness of her expression as she slept, curled onto her side, hair neat and bound even in sleep, the way she smiled sleepily in the morning as she reached for Bianca and kissed her— “God, I really hate being responsible sometimes.”

Janet’s chuckle is a little breathless, and the knowledge of it sends shots of heat through Bianca’s blood. “How about Thursday?” she asks. “I have a meeting after work, but the kids have swimming lessons in Homebush in the afternoon and they usually spend the night at my mother’s.”

Bianca has to literally bite her cheek to keep from saying something totally, enthusiastically uncool. When she’s composed herself into some semblance of adulthood, she manages, “Thursday works.” Was that smooth?

“Great,” Janet says. “I look forward to it.”

She doesn’t know if it was smooth, but she also doesn’t much care if Janet can hear her grinning right now. “Me too.”

Then, just as Bianca has wished her goodnight and gone to hang up, Janet murmurs, “I can’t wait to touch you, Bianca,” and Bianca forgets how to breathe.

*

Thursday isn’t just a crawl, it’s a slog through waist-deep water from hell: two more debriefings (one necessary, one definitely not), lunch with an obnoxious lawyer whose testimony Bianca needs for a trial, and the department’s bi-monthly ‘What’s New in Terrorism?’ meeting that only ever tells her three times over what she already knows. The highlight, apart from when the stone-faced, humourless Griffiths accidentally says ‘orgasm’ where he means ‘organism,’ is when her phone buzzes during the meeting and it’s Janet.

 _See you tonight,_ she’s written, and beside it, a smiley face.

Bianca nearly giggles. _Giggles_. She hasn’t giggled since 1982.

While Griffiths’ aide is busy spluttering over his Freudian slip, Georgia leans over and nudges her. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” Bianca sends a smiley face back and locks her phone before Georgia can see Janet’s name. “Aren’t you listening to this fascinating presentation?”

Georgia stares at her for a long, assessing moment and then whispers, “Someone’s gonna get laaaaaaid.”

Bianca sure hopes so, but it doesn’t mean she’ll dignify that with an answer.

*

She doesn’t want to turn up on Janet’s doorstep empty-handed and wine seems too cliché, beer too casual, anything harder too much, so she swings by her favourite take-away joint and comes bearing Pad Thai instead. She has a line to lighten the mood, a stupid joke she thought up in the car that might ease any tension between them, but as soon as Janet opens the door and smiles, Bianca forgets every word.

“Hi, glad you made it,” Janet says. “Come in.” 

Bianca does, holds the bag aloft as Janet locks the door behind her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, so I brought Thai.”

“Smells great. I did have something about—” she glances at her watch, “—five hours ago, so I won’t say no.”

“Kitchen?”

“You know the way.” Janet flashes her a smile. “I’ll find us some wine.”

It had been warm outside, but it’s even warmer in the house; Bianca sets the food down on the kitchen counter and shrugs out of her cardigan just as Janet returns, bottle in hand. “Stripping already?” she teases, breezing past Bianca to head for the glassware.

Bianca smirks. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Janet’s watching her with that look, that deadly, wonderful, terrible, bone-melting look she was wearing right before she kissed Bianca the first time, and Bianca is hot all over, immobilised by the burning intention in this woman’s eyes alone. She smiles back, sweet, doesn’t close the distance between them; instead she grabs two plates from out of the cupboard above her and starts dividing noodles. “So what are we drinking?” she asks, as casual as she can make it, which is pretty casual considering her acting skills. Ha, she thinks. Take that, Commissioner.

Janet grins like she knows exactly what Bianca’s doing, but she plays along. “We’re drinking red,” she says. “I hope that’s okay; I was going to give you a choice, but I haven’t got suitable white.”

Bianca grins. “Well, in that case, red sounds great.”

It might feel like months, but it hasn’t been long at all since Bianca was here; she still remembers where everything’s kept, knows at which side of the dining table Janet prefers to sit, and she feels better knowing that Janet is comfortable having her there. Well, maybe comfortable isn’t quite the right word; Janet seems more intent on driving her slowly, quietly insane with tiny, snail-paced, malicious techniques of seduction. When Bianca stretches up to take the salt off the top shelf, Janet slides a hand across her hip as she circles behind her. When Bianca leans back in her chair, Janet leans forward in hers, affording Bianca a view of her cleavage and a closer look at her glistening, wine-purple lips. Janet, oh-so-subtle, slides their calves together under the table. Janet teases her long fingers around the stem of her glass. Janet does all these things as they make quick work of the food, as they maintain conversation about the kids and work and yoga and the dubious merits of sugar-free chocolate, and Bianca does indeed go slowly, quietly insane.

After they’ve been sitting a while with their empty plates, Janet drains her glass and stands. “Be back in a sec,” she says, and Bianca takes the opportunity to pack up the rubbish and stack the dishwasher. It’s almost full, but she doesn’t put it on; comfort is one thing, assistance another, but she doesn’t want to seem like she’s trying to move in.

Bianca is just starting to wonder how long she’s expected to hold out in the face of all this flirting when Janet returns. She walks right over, targeted, crowds Bianca up against the kitchen counter and smiles that impish smile that makes everything in Bianca’s body vibrate with want. She says, “Hi.”

Bianca is staring at her mouth, she knows she’s staring at her mouth; she forces her eyes up and smiles back. “Hi.”

Janet runs her forefinger along the goose-bumped flesh of Bianca’s arm, tilts her head and asks, “Do you want some more wine?”

“No, thanks.” Bianca’s voice is lower, gruffer than she expects and she smirks. “I just want you.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Janet says, and finally kisses her.

Bianca melts. Janet presses into her, warm and solid and soft, her hipbones digging into Bianca’s as she draws her in closer and Bianca goes, follows her lead and responds with gusto. Her body lights up at every touch, her nerves singing a tune they’ve already started to learn but long to know better, and her heart and her blood and her mind are racing as her fingers map Janet’s body, slide up to free Janet’s hair from its clasp. She runs her fingers through it, revelling in its softness, in the way Janet groans and tips her head back, eyes closed, when Bianca draws her nails experimentally over her skull. 

“God, Bianca,” Janet says on a laugh, “I officially give you permission to do that again.”

Bianca does it again, then bends her lips to mouth at the warm exposed skin of Janet’s neck. Janet groans again and pushes Bianca back up against the counter, tongue hot and insistent and skilled, and Bianca’s stomach curls deliciously when she feels Janet’s hands at her belt, unbuckling, untucking her loose shirt from her pants. Janet’s fingers dance warm and laughing along the sensitive skin of her stomach and Bianca laughs as she feels her muscles jump. 

Janet licks a slow line along Bianca’s lower lip, obscene, and pulls back with a wicked grin. “Ticklish, Sergeant Grieve?”

“Heavens, no,” Bianca says with a straight face. “Where’d you get that idea?”

Janet spreads her hands wide along Bianca’s sides and squeezes. She brushes her lips against Bianca’s ear, flicks her tongue over her earlobe and whispers, “That information could come in handy in the future.”

Bianca kisses the smirk right off her face and keeps going, trails a line across Janet’s jaw and down her neck, nips little bites into her collarbones just to hear the way Janet thrills; she hasn’t been able to get that sound of her mind, that desperate, pleasure-filled sound Janet makes whenever Bianca uses a hint of teeth. She sets to work on the buttons on Janet’s blouse, careful not to rip them – it’s a really nice blouse – and kisses down her chest, licks over the swell of her breast until Janet gasps and pulls her up.

“Bedroom. Now. I don’t want to be the one responsible for you messing up your back.”

“I’m fine—” Bianca starts to say, and has to chuckle when her neck cracks as she straightens. “Okay, I’ll concede.”

“Good.” Janet, never a time-waster, leaves her blouse on the kitchen counter and drags Bianca through the hallway and onto her bed. She straddles her, stunning und un-self-conscious in her bra and trousers and socks, and she leans down and murmurs, “So, where were we?”

Bianca flips her, grinning at Janet’s breathless laugh. “Headed south,” she says, and Janet groans.

“Oh, ten point deduction for the joke.”

“There are points?”

Bianca tosses Janet’s bra in the general direction of her laundry basket – she misses, but who’s looking? – and bends to continue her journey. She licks a circle around Janet’s nipple with the tip of her tongue and then laves, sucks it into her mouth; Janet slides one hand into Bianca’s hair and fists the other into the sheets, and Bianca laughs around her breast when Janet gasps out, “Forget it, you just won them back.”

She lavishes attention on the other breast and when Janet is squirming, fingers twisting knots into Bianca’s straightened hair, Bianca continues on her way, detours to bite at the tempting jut of Janet’s hipbones, one and then the other before she pauses, glances up. Janet is watching her, pupils dilated, and in that moment, Bianca is so overwhelmed with affection it almost scares her. She smiles, reaches up to link her fingers through Janet’s and asks, “Is this what you want?” 

Janet bites her lip, nods with vigour, and then she says, “Yes.”

This isn’t the first time she’s done this, but it still feels so wonderfully, gloriously new; she sinks into Janet’s warmth, revels in the earthy-sweet scent and the taste of her, in the way she writhes and gasps when Bianca hits the right spot with her tongue and then does it again and again. It’s so easy with Janet, Bianca thinks; she’s so responsive, so honest, she knows herself and her own body so well, and it’s impossible for Bianca to miss when she’s doing something right because Janet strokes her hair and rasps out things like, “Yes, seventy points.”

Janet comes down half-laughing, half-gasping for breath, and she tugs Bianca back up to her level and kisses and kisses her, languid and warm, passing the flavour between them. “You know what?” Janet asks between kisses, her fingers teasing Bianca’s breast through her shirt. “You are seriously overdressed for a casual dinner.”

“Am I now? And to think you told me off for stripping before. I really— _oh_.” Bianca surrenders, arches her neck to welcome the pressure of Janet’s lips against her throat, to better allow Janet to reach behind her and untie her shirt, her nimble fingers sliding the buttons through their holes in record time. Bianca is divested of her remaining clothing before she really notices that it’s gone, so distracting is Janet’s tongue; it isn’t just words this woman is good with, Bianca thinks in a daze, it’s her whole damned mouth.

Janet never stops kissing her, kisses her breathless and endless as she unclips Bianca’s bra, as she palms her breasts and rolls one nipple and then the other between her fingers. Bianca is sensitive and Janet hasn’t forgotten; she takes her time, increases the pressure according to Bianca’s responses, proves herself once again to be a quick and excellent study. Her fingers wander, take the same path Bianca’s took, and when she slips them between her legs Bianca is so, so ready, and she arches her back and cries out. Janet is gentle as she explores but she soon finds her rhythm, and when Bianca hisses, “More, please,” she complies; Janet moves up her body and settles half-across her, skin to skin, and Bianca hooks a desperate arm around Janet’s waist to draw her in. Bianca is gasping for breath as Janet starts to move faster, faster; Janet stays there with her, lips at Bianca’s earlobe, hot breath on her neck, and when Janet’s fingers curl and press and hit their target, hit it again, Bianca is gone.

They lie there, curled together, sticky and sweaty and breathing too hard, and Bianca’s grinning into Janet’s hair. She can’t stop grinning. She wants to say something cool, something smooth, but when she opens her mouth what comes out is: “Janet, fuck.”

Janet laughs, easing Bianca’s mortification at least a little, and then she smiles, rolls over and trails her thumb along Bianca’s chin, over her cheek. “Thanks for coming over,” Janet says.

“It was really, seriously my pleasure, Janet.” Before Janet can open her mouth, Bianca adds, “I just lost more points, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Janet says. “You already won them back by pre-empting the deduction.”

“Good to know.” Bianca runs her fingers through Janet’s hair, untangling the catches. “One day I’ll figure out this points system of yours.”

“I’m not even sure I know how it works myself, but if anyone can figure out, it’s you.”

Bianca chuckles. “That’s sweet, I think.”

Janet kisses her, light and brief, and then stands up and stretches; as she does, Bianca’s eyes follow the play of her muscles, and she makes no effort at all to disguise her appreciation. “Thought I’d head to the shower,” Janet says. Bianca watches her go, feels the renewed spread of heat deep in her belly. Janet is halfway across the room when she turns around and says, “Are you coming?”

Bianca isn’t going to say no to that.


End file.
